


Sophroniel's Dragon Age Drabbles

by Sophroniel (NoreNeither)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, Circle of Magi, Drabble Collection, Lake Calenhad, Mages (Dragon Age), Mages and Templars, Templars (Dragon Age), The Circle, Tranquil Mages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 22:17:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16841506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoreNeither/pseuds/Sophroniel
Summary: I realised that I have a few Dragon Age drabbles saved in my writing folder. I'll post them as I find/edit them. Who knows how old they are.... Apologies in advance for them not being super good lol ;)Chapter One: Anders is taken to The Circle of Magi in Ferelden





	Sophroniel's Dragon Age Drabbles

He was a month and a half shy of his twelfth birthday when they found him. Or, rather, when they found him _out._

With his overlong hair flopping in his eyebrows, long, skinny legs and doleful brown eyes, he wasn’t any different from any other child in the obscure mountain hamlet. The only place he’d ever known.

No, he did not look it but, then again, mages never do.

+

 _  
‘Who is_ he? _’_

_‘Some new kid the templars brought in the yesterday.’_

_‘Where’s he from?’_

_‘Some backwater in the Anderfels. That’s what Amell said she’d heard, anyway.’_

_‘Did he say anything to you?’_

_‘Nah, he just glared at me like he wanted to set my hair on fire when I tried saying hello.’_

_‘Yikes, wouldn’t put it past him. What a weird kid.’_

_‘And did you see, they brought him in wearing_ chains.’

_‘Maker, I know. What must he have done? And he’s so old to be brought to the Circle…’_

+

He’d refused to tell them his name when he had been presented to the First Enchanter, and the templars who had brought him had not been able to get it out of him either.

In truth, he hadn’t wanted to relinquish that part of himself, that last part that he truly owned. They’d taken everything else.

He knew he’d never see his mother again. His father he could do without— _the bastard,_ he thought with venom—but he still loved his mother, in spite of himself. She was a simple woman, and when the templars had told her that he was a punishment sent by the Maker, and that if she wanted to beg His forgiveness, then she should forget she ever had a son, her eyes had gone wide and she’d shut her mouth tight. And she’d turned and walked back into their cottage without a further glance at her only son. He’d yelled her name only once, but even his plaintive cry wrought no change on her receding figure. He’d see his father standing outside the doorway, a look of clear disgust on his face. _You are no son of mine,_ he’d spat, and followed his wife into their home. Their normal home, with their two normal daughters. It was as if he’d never existed, just like that.

He hadn’t cried. He hadn’t known what to do. He was too… _something_ to cry. Hurt? Shocked? He didn’t know. But he didn’t say a word the entire trip.

The templars had started calling him “Anders” on the journey because of where they had found him, and he simply hadn’t stopped them. He vaguely disliked it, but it was as good a name as any, he supposed. And there was no way he was letting them have his real name. They were _never_ having it, he had silently vowed.

He got his first look at the Circle Tower as they rounded the crest of a hill near Lake Calenhad. It was austere, a tall spike that pierced the sky; he wondered if something that sharp could tear the sky, maybe make it bleed. It was oddly beautiful in a way, and it did not look like the terrible prison he already knew it to be.

As they’d rowed to that small island on which the Tower sat, he’d felt his belly turn to lead with a deep, despairing dread. So much so that by the time they landed on the narrow shore, he felt as if he would be sick. But he wasn’t. He wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ —show weakness in front of his captors, the blighted templars.

‘What’s your name, son?’ asked a mild-mannered man with more grey in his beard than brown, a man whom the templars had taken him to once they had entered the complex through impossibly tall, heavy wooden doors bound in iron. He did nothing but give the robed mage the filthiest look he could muster, but it did not dampen the old man’s somewhat kindly demenor. When he refused to speak, one of the templars sighed and explained the situation.

‘He hasn’t spoken a word, First Enchanter Irving, since we were sent for to pick him from the village of Algermons. We gave up trying to get language out of him. He’s clearly uncooperative.’

‘I knew we should’ve asked his mother while we had the chance,’ muttered the other, with a weary roll of the eyes. ‘I’m not sure he’s even smart enough to speak.’

The first templar winced ever so slightly. ‘Yes, Ser Cutio, I _know_ we should have asked her _._ But there’s nothing we can do now, is there?’ he turned back to Irving and continued with a shrug, his heavy plate mail squeaking, ‘We just started calling him Anders.’

Irving nodded, and looked at the slight, blond boy in from of him. He was older than most new apprentices, true, but Irving was confident he would warm to the Circle, like they all did. It was the best, happiest place for all mages, after all.

‘Now, young man,’ he said gently, kneeling down to make his eye level below the boy’s, ‘That’s not your name, but unless your tell us what it really is, we’ll have to write that down. You can’t be called “Nothing”.’ He chuckled a little.

“Anders” remained silent, fists clenched and white at his sides, scowl deepening.

Irving smiled a little sadly and stood up, his knees cracking as he straighted. He looked across at the Samson, the Records Tranquil. ‘Record this young man as Anders, then,’ he said simply.

‘Certainly, First Enchanter Irving,’ said the Tranquil with an even, modulated tone without inflection that unnerved the boy inexplicably. He’d never heard anyone speak like that…

But, without another word being spoken, he had no more time to ponder the unsettling records-keeper, as the templars led Anders to the room that would become his prison. 


End file.
